Dear reader, I have failed you. It's only night three of Kosmic City's four-day Dreams Ever End wandering festival, and I've run out of steam. There will be no eloquence here, I won't wax poetic about what was an amazing show, instead, I'll just drop some notes, so something will appear in a Google search fifteen years from now when you try to remember who played that goth show you saw at Record Bar.

Reviser is better every show it plays, and that's saying something. The local band is goth. Don't overthink it. You like Bauhaus? So do they. Baritone guitarist and vocalist Nemeth sounded good despite the lingering effects of a cold. Guitarist Dedric Moore looks like the manager of a '70s rock band that can definitely get you coke. His backing vocals came across fabulously. Four-on-the-floor beats in "Assassins" inspired the baby bats to dance. Someday we'll explore why I think one of the songs sounds like "Astronomy Domine," but not now.

Rosegarden Funeral Party played KC two years ago at Minibar. At that small venue, frontwoman Leah Lane charmed the intimate crowd with sincere banter about her cat. This time she impressed them by running to and fro on the big Record Bar stage, leaping with her guitar like a rock star, and belting out dramatic vocals. She's Patty Smyth, Joan Jett, and Siouxsie Sioux all rolled into one. Drummer Dean Adams dropped disco punk beats like hi-hats were free. Lane was emotional through the whole set. At least one ballad had her crying. The whole forty-minute set had me awestruck once again.

The March Violets deserve more from me. But then again, they've always deserved more from everyone. Well, except from John Hughes. He probably did them right. The trio started in Leeds in 1981, creating post-punk alongside both Sisters of Mercy and Gang of Four. This year's marginally more ornate Crocodile Smiles is the latest chapter. Jagged guitar from Tom Aston all night. Growling vocals from Rosie Garland. Bounding bass and contrasting vocals from new guy Mat Thorpe. Hissing drum machine. Garland introduced every song with flair and vocal fry, describing encore single "Fodder" as "two minutes of batshit nonsense." That's exactly what I came for. If the band ever returns, I promise to write a frickin' novel about the show.

I've got one more night of the Dreams Never End festival before I can go to bed. Sorry to cut this short, but sleeping in a coffin these past three days has not been easy.